


A Straight Line

by FreshBrains



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memories, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Praise Kink, Sad, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Straight Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sebastianstanstongue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastianstanstongue/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this dark little fic. You gave such a gritty prompt and I hope I tackled it well! Definitely heed the **dubious** consent warning.

There’s a man. 

He’s tall, casting a shadow over the cell, and he wears a dove-grey suit.  He has big hands.  Nice hands.

“He looks afraid,” the man says to the guards, stepping closer to the Winter Soldier’s cot, his shiny black shoes bright as oil against the concrete floor. 

“I’m not afraid,” the Winter Soldier lies, clenching his jaw.  He doesn’t raise his hands into a fighting stance anymore; he won’t do it until he’s directed to.  They’ll break a finger otherwise.  He finally looks up through his lank hair and takes in a sharp breath, cold air shocking his teeth.  “Steve,” he blurts out before he can gasp it back in.

The man has sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, a jaw that could cut glass.  There’s a tiny slope of a smile on his lips and all the Winter Soldier can see and smell and feel and hear is a blond-haired blue-eyed city boy sitting on a fire escape, hacking on a cigarette, fingers stained with charcoal pencil.

“Steve,” he says again, like he’s afraid of forgetting the name, like he’s forgot it before.

The man makes a disappointed noise in the back of his throat, smile fading away, and the image of the strange boy in the city light fades with it.  “Pity,” he murmurs, and nods to the guards, who grab the Winter Soldier by his biceps and pull him up off the cot.  “I’ll be back in two days.  I expect better results next time.”

The Winter Soldier wonders who the man is speaking to and what he can do to make him smile again.

*

The man comes back, and the Winter Soldier is back at Point A.  He knows he exists and what he is and that he’s _there_ , but he doesn’t know much else, only he knows this man.

“They let me keep you,” the Winter Soldier says, staring at the man’s night-black shoes.  He knows so little but they always tell him when he wakes up— _you’ll remember some things but not others.  The procedure was a success._ “Why?”

The man comes closer into the room and nods at the guards.  They close the door once they’ve vacated the tiny quarters.  For a long time, the man doesn’t say anything, just stands in front of the Winter Soldier.  The tortoiseshell button on his suit jacket is at eye-level.

“Do you know why I’m here, Soldier?”

The Winter Soldier shrugs.  “To give me my mission?”

The man scoffs and crouches down so he can look the Winter Soldier in the eye.  He wears eyeglasses with wire frames but he takes them off and tucks them in his jacket pocket.  He squints a little, looking at the Winter Soldier intently, expectedly.  “I’m here to make sure you’re _ready_ for a mission.”

The Winter Soldier thinks he knows what’s coming, maybe by the tone of the man’s voice, or the stern line of his mouth, or the way his fingers tap-tap-tap against the Winter Soldier’s legs.  “How?”

The man unbuttons his jacket.  His face says _I’ve won_ , but the Winter Soldier doesn’t understand it.  “Lie down on the bed.”

The Winter Soldier obeys.

*

“Who did you see?” The man’s breath is hot against the Winter Soldier’s neck, too hot for comfort.

“What?” He’s confused, doesn’t know why he’s being spoken to while his hands are pressed up against the top of the mattress and the man pistons between his thighs, rutting into him like a machine.  The Winter Soldier’s cock is hard against his belly, he _likes_ this, or at least he knows he should.  He likes the way the man smells—like clean leather and ocean water.

“When…” the man pauses, readjusts, so his cock rams against the Winter Soldier’s prostate with his next thrust.  The Winter Soldier knows he likes this, but he also thinks that maybe this is the first time he’s done it, which frightens him.  “When you saw me.  You saw someone else.”

The Winter Soldier wraps his arms around the man’s back.  He wants to dig his fingernails into the man’s skin, watch him bleed and be _real_ , but they keep them trimmed too short and his new arm is just blunt metal.  He spreads his legs wider, squirming both into and away from the man’s body.  “I don’t…I don’t know.”

The man inhales sharply and leans down, face so close to the Winter Soldier’s that all he can see is the blue of his eyes.  “That means they took him from you.”

The Winter Soldier squeezes his eyes shut and lets a wave of pleasure take him over, lets the man wrap his sure hand around his cock and bring him to an exhausting, strained completion.  “I don’t understand,” he whispers, mouth sticky and dry.

The man leans back a bit and smiles tenderly at the Winter Soldier, tiny crinkles forming around his eyes.  “You’re such a good boy.” 

The Winter Soldier doesn’t really hear him leave, doesn’t hear him get dressed and clean himself up or toss a damp cloth into the bed so the Winter Soldier can tidy himself before the guards come in to take him to training.

He sleeps without dreams, with only the scent of the man clinging to his sheets.

*

The man comes again after the Winter Soldier’s first kill.  It was a clean kill, quick and sharp, a neck twisted like so much cloth in his hands.  No need for bullets for blood.  They like it that way.

The man wears a suit again, a different one this time, navy blue.  The Winter Soldier hasn’t been washed out since the last time, he’s the same person, has the same mind, and he cannot help but smile eagerly before pressing his mouth back into a stoic grimace.

“That’s alright,” the man says, and crouches down in front of the Winter Soldier like he did last time.  He takes his hands, working his fingers between the grooves of the knuckles.  “You should be proud.  You’re becoming an important asset to us.”

“To _you_ ,” the Winter Soldier says.  He doesn’t care about anyone else.  He loves this man’s hands.  He knows his selfishness is unattractive to these people but cannot care.

The man smiles.  “Yes, my boy.  To me.”

When the Winter Soldier leans forward and presses his forehead against the man’s, the man says, “You may call me Alexander.  But only when we’re alone.”

“What will I say in front of others?” The Winter Soldier’s hands move to Alexander’s belt buckle, breath quickening.

“You’ll say nothing,” Alexander says.  “You’ll pretend you’ve never met me before.”

*

The tile is cold beneath the Winter Soldier’s knees, the grout pressing red grooves into his shins.  But Alexander is warm above him, around him, his hands cupping each side of the Winter Soldier’s face.  Thumbs stroke his cheeks, his lips.

“You did well today,” Alexander says, winding his fingers through the Winter Soldier’s hair.  He’s stripped to the waist, bloody shirt in the corner of the bathroom, blood still clinging to his hands and hair, but Alexander doesn’t seem to mind.  “How will I reward you?”

The Winter Soldier wraps his hand around Alexander’s swollen cock, slick with spit, and strokes him once.  He licks a line down his length, eager to draw those sounds from Alexander, those approving and desperate sounds.  “With yourself,” he says, before drawing him into his mouth.

Alexander doesn’t say anything, just tugs his hair harder.

*

“ _Steve_.”

The Winter Soldier wakes, shuddering, skin clammy with sweat.  He’s reaching out for someone, something, his metal hand fisted so tight in the blanket the fabric tears.

Across the room, a man sighs, and the Winter Soldier gets up to attack.

“Stop,” the man says, and the Winter Soldier obeys, knowing his master’s voice anywhere.  “Come here.”  He’s hidden in the shadows of the room, sitting in the chair the Winter Soldier never uses.

The Winter Soldier walks over, still trembling, and when Alexander draws him into his lap like a child, he doesn’t hesitate.  He’s good at making himself small and unseen, something pitiful.  Alexander wraps his arms around him. 

“Who is Steve?” Alexander’s voice is hushed, gentle.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t know, but he does.  It hurts him everywhere.  “I think I knew him,” he says, pressing his face into the warm skin of Alexander’s neck.

Alexander holds him for a long time after that, arms just this side of too tight, but the Winter Soldier likes that.

*

The next day, they bring the Winter Soldier in to wipe him again.  Back to Point A, Square One. 

When he wakes, he sees a man in a sharp suit and ink-black shoes.  His face is handsome, stern but gentle like that of a born leader. 

“My name is Alexander,” the man says without moving from his place in the doorway, far away.  “Do you know who I am?”

The Winter Soldier shakes his head.  He doesn’t know this man, but he knows he should.


End file.
